"This won't do," I said to the girl. "Let me see how badly he's hurt."
She took Blister's head in her arms.
"Go 'way from here! He's dead," she said. "He saved me . . . he's
mine! Go 'way from here!"
A crowd was forming. I sent a stableboy for a blanket, put it under
Blister's head, despite the girl's protests, and pulled her roughly to
her feet.
"Go over to that bale and sit down!" I ordered, giving her a shake; and
to my surprise she obeyed. "Sit with her!" I said to the German, and I
heard her repeat, "Go 'way from here!" as he approached. . . .
The ambulance clanged through the gate. The young surgeon put his ear
to Blister's heart, picked the limp body up unaided and placed it in
the somber-looking vehicle.
"Beat it, Max!" he said to the driver.
"What hospital?" I called after him.
"Saint Luke's!" he shouted, as they gathered speed.
"You had better take her home now," I suggested to Mr. Shultz. "I am
going to the hospital."
"So am I," said the girl. "Tell mother," she directed at the German,
as she started for the gate.
"You'd better not go," I remonstrated. "I'll let you know everything
as soon as I hear."
She paid not the slightest attention. When we reached the street she
stopped on the wrong corner waiting for a car that would have taken her
away from, instead of toward, the hospital.
"You can't go down-town like this!" I said, making a last effort.
"Look at your dress!" and I pointed to the front of her gown--a bright
crimson under the electric light.
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